


Eulogies for Saint Sebastian

by Anonymous



Category: CIX (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hell, Alternate Universe - La Divina Commedia Fusion, Anal Sex, Blasphemy, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Painplay, Spit As Lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Canto IX. The ferryman of the Fifth Circle fishes a wayward blasphemer from the river and burns another sin into his soul.
Relationships: Kim Seunghun/Yoon Hyunsuk
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42
Collections: anonymous





	Eulogies for Saint Sebastian

**Author's Note:**

> inspired and very very vaguely based on imagery from the jungle mv and my own bastardization of divine comedy. if sacrilegious stuff bothers you then uhh maybe don’t read this 🙈

The souls of the enraged are awfully restless today.

Hyunsuk dips his fingers into the writhing mass of the Stygian marsh and is met with the feeble squabbling of a dozen hands trying to claw their way up his forearm and straight into his boat. Their dull fingernails caked with black grime barely scratch his skin. He shakes them off easily and they go back to tearing at each other.

All except for one.

Deep in the sea of bodies, Hyunsuk spots a soul that looks pointedly out of place. His face isn’t twisted in rage. Instead, he simply clambers upon the shoulders of the others, gasping for air with his eyes closed. Hyunsuk leans over the edge of the boat, uncaring of the filthy hands that reach towards him as he drinks in the man’s expression.

Rapture.

With his eyelashes fanning against his cheeks and pink lips parted wide, the soul looks lost in pleasure instead of maddened by frenzy. The black sludge of the river doesn’t seem to cling to the tattered white robes hanging off his frame, though the red stains on his chest tell a different story of agony – agony of the flesh. For a moment Hyunsuk thinks he is alive, lost somehow within the Inferno. But his bloodied clothes and ropes give him away as simply being a lost sinner.  In his left hand, he’s holding an arrow. It’s slicked with thick red blood halfway up the shaft, and Hyunsuk thinks he must have plunged it into another soul like a makeshift weapon. But then he looks back to the bloodstains and realization dawns on him:

This soul had been gored with the arrow, and pulled it from his  _ own _ chest.

Hyunsuk is too intrigued to let this lost soul go. He leans farther out of the boat, feeling it rock violently as souls desperately try to climb on board. They all slip away, however, when Hyunsuk drags the man in by the ropes and heaves him aboard. He flops down on the floor, not sitting or standing like Hyunsuk’s typical passengers. Hyunsuk struggles to rearrange his legs; the ferry isn’t very large and this soul isn’t being accommodating. He simply lies back and draws in heaving breaths as Hyunsuk kneels between his legs and surveys his body.

The man lifts his arms above his head, drawing in a ragged inhale as his lungs expand, and drops the arrow against the boards. Hyunsuk can’t see the wounds, but the crimson bloodstains tell the story well enough. When he presses his palm flat down against one, the main cringes but doesn’t cry out. With his other hand, Hyunsuk sinks his fingers into the sinner’s hair and feels a dirty grit between the locks.

Sand.

“You don’t belong here at all,” Hyunsuk murmurs. “You’ve found your way out of the desert somehow, haven't you? Usurer, blasphemer, sodomite?”

The man finally parts his lips, pink and soft-looking and too pretty for Hell. “Blasphemy.”

The single word rings tender and mellifluous, so different from the enraged cries that echo down the banks of the river all day. Hyunsuk isn’t used to sinners like this: open and soft, languishing in their mortal iniquity. His attitude speaks of defiance instead of repentance. Hyunsuk oversees the punishment of the wrathful, but this man has a syrup-sticky lasciviousness that makes Hyunsuk feel like he’s back in the corrupted cradle of the earth before his own fall.

“Once I had broken free from the shackles binding me to the altar, I was carried on the burning currents of Phlegethon,” he explains, smiling softly even as restless souls knock against the hull of the boat. “The minotaurs skewered me, as you see, but their arrows only slowed me down.”

He finally opens his eyes, and Hyunsuk is taken aback at the kindness in his gaze.

It's perplexing, the way this soul lies back in the boat like he’s enjoying the ride. He’s stretched out across the planks in a way that is almost sinful – arms reaching lazily overhead and legs sprawled wide with Hyunsuk kneeling between them. His eyes are soft, and the red stains on his ragged clothes betray the wounds beneath where the arrows penetrated his skin. While the sea of bodies around the boat grapple in rage, this man lies supine in something that looks close to ecstasy.

Hyunsuk presses a hand to his chest. It’s warm. “You know I’m headed for the gates of Dis, right? You’ll be thrown back to the Seventh Circle.”

“And you know I won’t stay chained on that altar,” he replies. “I’ll get out again.”

Hyunsuk grins at that, curling his fingers in the man’s shirt. “Hell hasn’t broken you? Maybe you belong here. Whatever you did to make God turn his back on you, I’m sure you meant it.”

“And I would do it again,” he says earnestly.

Hyunsuk leans forward, dragging his hand up until it presses to the man’s throat. “What’s your name, sinner?"

“Seunghun.”

“Seunghun,” Hyunsuk repeats. He trails his hand higher, pressing the pads of his fingers against Seunghun’s lips. Seunghun opens his mouth as if in invitation, but Hyunsuk moves away to tangle his fingers in Seunghun’s hair. “Do you want to indulge in another sin of the Seventh Circle?”

Seunghun glances down Hyunsuk’s body, absently fiddling with the bloodied arrow behind his head. “Is this a trick?”

“You’re already in Hell,” Hyunsuk points out. “It’s your own nature that brought you here. I can’t lead you any more astray than you already are.”

Seunghun pushes himself upright, forcing Hyunsuk to lean back. Hyunsuk is practically on top of him, seated between Seunghun’s thighs so the smaller man is curled in his lap when they’re both sitting straight like this. It doesn’t make Hyunsuk feel bigger or in control, though. Not when Seunghun wraps a bloodstained hand around the back of his neck and brushes their noses together.

“Then show me some sin, ferryman.”

Hyunsuk smiles softly, and shoves Seunghun backwards.

Seunghun falls down against the bottom of the boat hard enough that it pitches forward in the water. Hands scramble up the sides of the boat, one of them sinking bruised-knuckled fingers into his hair. But he doesn’t seem to care, not when he pulls Hyunsuk down on top of him and presses their mouths together.

He kisses like a sinner.

It’s an icy shock, like falling into the churning waves of the river. But Seunghun coaxes his lips open and breathes lust down his throat, hot enough that it nearly chokes him. Hyunsuk gets so lost in the motion of their lips that he hardly thinks before his hands are wandering down Seunghun’s sides, digging his fingers into the flesh before he realizes what he’s done.

Immediately, Seunghun hisses and pulls away. His hand darts up to his abdomen, pressing over one of the bloodstains that Hyunsuk just bumped. There’s a frantic edge to his breathing, either pain or arousal. Maybe both. Hyunsuk presses his lips to Seunghun’s temple and inhales. Fresh blood smells so much better than the muck of the river.

“Do they hurt?” Hyunsuk asks, trailing his hand up Seunghun’s side to graze a finger over one of the wounds.

“Yes,” Seunghun sighs. “Press harder.”

_ Oh _ .

Hyunsuk kisses the tip of his ear and sinks his finger into one of the soft gouges. It makes Seunghun cry out, high and airy.

“ _ This _ is how you survive and beat them,” he says, holding Hyunsuk’s hand in place. “When their punishment becomes your pleasure, that’s how you’ve won.”

“It almost sounds like you sent yourself to Hell on purpose,” Hyunsuk muses. “Do you want to hurt some more?”

“ _ Yes _ .”

“Then take these off.”

Hyunsuk tugs at his tattered white robes, and Seunghun lifts his arms so they come off more easily. There’s no finesse, but that’s not what they’re here for. When Seunghun’s chest is bare, Hyunsuk is met with the sight of three small wounds, still sluggishly bleeding. Seunghun arches and exhales, as if he’s showing off the fruits of his punishment. Hyunsuk sinks his teeth into an undamaged patch of skin to try to leave his own marks.

A hand buries itself in his hair. “Good boy. Sweet boy.”

Sweet. As if such a thing exists here on this river.

Hyunsuk drags his lips lower, following the dried flecks of blood. Seunghun tastes like heat, like the scorching sands of the Seventh Circle. It’s so different from the chill blowing off the icy waters that Hyunsuk is used to. He could get addicted to it, he thinks, as his lips skirt low enough to touch the coarse fabric of his britches.

“There,” Seungun sighs, sitting up a bit. “Lower.”

Hyunsuk keeps his mouth pressed to the tenting fabric as he glances up to see the serpentine arc of Seunghun’s torso. He looks golden against the greyish blue of the stormy sky. The staining around his wounds shines like ichor rather than dull vermillion blood.

_ Like a pagan god _ , Hyunsuk thinks, and shivers. The wind is cold, but the gentle hand cradling his head is warm. He casts his gaze down and almost shyly drags the roughspun robes low enough to let Seunghun’s cock peek out.

“Off,” Seunghun kicks his legs restlessly, “Take this the rest of the way off already.”

Hyunsuk nods in a daze, unwilling to look away from Seunghun’s hard cock. But he drags the trousers down and off, leaving Seunghun nude under the stormy grey skies. Seunghun reaches down and touches himself shamelessly. One arm is thrown over his head, fiddling with the bloody arrow again. There’s wetness beading at the tip of his cock, running down to slick up the motion of his hand. The noise is obscene. Hyunsuk can barely hear the din of the river over the sound.

“Move,” he bats Seunghun’s hand away and replaces it with his own, giving him a few quick strokes. He moves automatically, dipping down low and pressing his lips to the tip. Seunghun’s groan emboldens him.

The heat he felt at Seunghun’s touch is nothing next to the fire that blooms inside him when he wraps his lips around the cock and sinks down deep. It’s too much and not enough all at once, filling his mouth like he’ll choke but chasing after it like he needs it to breathe. Seunghun’s hand goes back to his hair as he sings Hyunsuk’s praises. Telling him that he’s good, he’s precious, he’s _beautiful_. The reverence he lacked for God isn’t in absence here. Their sin feels holy, almost. Hyunsuk tastes the salt and sweat and thinks some things are worth an eternity of this river. Maybe deifying the flesh is forgivable, when it makes Hell bearable.

When he finally pulls back, Seunghun grabs his jaw and drags him up while he’s still trying to catch his breath. He parts his lips, expecting a kiss, but a hot flash of excitement and shock jolts through him when Seunghun spits in his mouth instead. He’s so taken aback that he barely reacts when Seunghun presses his fingers into Hyunsuk’s mouth, forcing him to swallow.  He’s sucking on the fingers without even being told to. Seunghun stares at his mouth with hungry lidded eyes, spurring Hyunsuk on. His fingers taste like blood and salt. Hyunsuk doesn’t want to let them go, but Seunghun eventually pulls away.

Before Hyunsuk can think to protest, the hand disappears between their bodies, and –  _ oh _ .

Seunghun’s eyes flutter shut as he curls one split-slicked finger inside himself. Hyunsuk doesn’t know how he can take it so – so  _ dry _ .

“You try,” Seunghun invites, spreading his legs as wide as he can in the narrow boat. Hyunsuk swallows around his dry throat.

It paints a wanton picture against the muddy hellscape of the river, and for a moment Hyunsuk finds himself frozen. His hands tremble as he braces one on the inside of Seunghun’s thigh, and Seunghun continues to look at him with that warm lust dripping from his lashes. Hyunsuk sucks his own fingers wet and presses on against the hole, afraid he might hurt Seunghun, but he takes it so easily that  _ Hyunsuk _ is the one left gasping.

“Like a gift,” Seunghun says, and then laughing, adds, “A God-given gift.”

“You’re horrible,” Hyunsuk mutters, and Seunghun laughs louder.

Hyunsuk pushes another finger in. The stretch is easy even as Seunghun grimaces and groans, muttering not to stop. Begging, nearly, by the time Hyunsuk has worked him open and loose. Hyunsuk sits back long enough to pull his own hard cock out from his trousers and slicks it with spit. He suddenly feels base and vulgar – like an animal. Seunghun seems to sense his hesitation, because he pulls him close and presses a kiss to his mouth that feels almost like chastity.

“Go ahead,” Seunghun mutters against his lips. “Nothing can stop you here, not even Him.”

Hyunsuk nods and lines himself up, pushing in so easily that the shock of it knocks the wind out of him. Seunghun only brushes their foreheads together and breathes out a ragged sigh. Surely he should be a demon, Hyunsuk thinks, because his body is built for sin.

“Move,” Seunghun urges, once Hyunsuk is fully inside him. Hyunsuk can barely hear him over the rush in his own ears.

“Am I–” Hyunsuk chokes out, “Hurting you?”

Seunghun grabs him by the jaw again, dragging him down into another bruising kiss that jostles Hyunsuk inside him and makes them both cry out.

“I told you,” Seunghun groans, “Nothing here can hurt me anymore.  _ Move _ , ferryman.”

“Hyunsuk. My name is Hyunsuk.”

Seunghun throws his head back and arches off the boards. “Hyunsuk. Move for me, sweet boy.”

This time, Hyunsuk obliges him.

They establish a rough rhythm, rocking with the boat on the waves. Hyunsuk tries not to think about the souls around them, about the whole mess they’re immersed in on these frigid waters. He doesn’t have to try hard, though, because Seunghun keeps him occupied. He twists and groans like he’s in pain, but he rolls his hips to meet Hyunsuk anyway. Hyunsuk gets lost in the melodious sounds from his lips. Every sigh is a chord so sweet and free it mocks the rigid strains echoing down from Paradise.

Hyunsuk can feel his own repentance unraveling like yarn with each thrust into Seunghun’s tight heat.

Seunghun is gripping the edge of the boat and seems oblivious to the hand digging scratches into his wrist, trying to pull him into the water to rejoin the frenzy. They can’t do anything to him, Hyunsuk realizes. Seunghun hisses through his teeth and smiles up at the murky sky. There’s a look in his lidded eyes like enlightenment. Like he’s turned Hell into his domain. No one can touch him, not really.

And when he cums, he cries out loud enough to echo across the waters. It drives Hyunsuk mad. He hopes it was heard by a thousand ears, a thousand souls, a thousand devils. 

Seunghun grips his shoulder with trembling fingers, bunching the fabric up and making Hyunsuk realize he’s still fully clothed as he looms over Seunghun’s nude body. Seunghun’s eyes are closed again, mouth agape. Just like how he was when Hyunsuk fished him from the water. Except now, his body is bared to Hyunsuk. Hell is all over him, from the sand in his hair to the gouges in his chest – but Hyunsuk is inside him. He adjusts his grip to dig his thumb into one of the wounds, forcing a shout from Seunghun and an airy sigh of,  _ yes, Hyunsuk – yes _ .

It’s all Hyunsuk needs. He thrusts once or twice more before his body locks up, arms around Seunghun squeezing him against Hyunsuk’s broader chest as he fills him up. Seunghun whispers in his ear as it rocks through him, sweet and sinful things. Temptation in the bottom of a boat while lightning streaks across the sky.

And when he’s finished, breathing heavy against Seunghun’s temple, he realizes Seunghun is holding him just as tight.

Hyunsuk has never thought about defiance. He has never thought about fighting back, about spitting in the eye of his immortal jailors. Though he does not grapple with the souls in the water, he is still cursed to damnation along with them. He knows that if he were to be plunged into the icy Stygian lake, he would sink to the bottom to gurgle endlessly with the souls of the sullen. He never thought that there could be any other way to live through this torment.

But he’s thinking about it now.

“I have to take you back,” he says. Trying to shake his strange mood more than anything. He finally pulls back to look down at the soft smile on Seunghun’s face. Somehow it feels like a betrayal, even though they both knew it would have to end like this.

Seunghun runs his hands down Hyunsuk’s forearms and curls his red fingertips against Hyunsuk’s palm. “I think we were meant to find each other. And I think we’ll find each other again.”

Hyunsuk closes his hand around Seunghun’s fingers. “Is that so?”

“You don’t expect me to submit to my punishment, do you?” Seunghun looks up at him from under his bangs, impish and a little coy. “I’ll be back.”

His hands are warm in Hyunsuk’s like there’s hellfire in his veins. “Then I’ll wait for you.”


End file.
